


Save Your Mortal Soul

by Lavellington



Series: Home is so sad (221b drabbles) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221 b drabbles, 221B Ficlet, Gen, M/M, Poor John, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavellington/pseuds/Lavellington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was limping along again now, halting and out of time, and he couldn’t fix it by himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Your Mortal Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Second in my post Reichenbach drabble series, from John's POV. Title from Don McLean's American Pie.

After Sherlock died, John couldn’t be around Baker Street for a while. He couldn’t listen to the sounds of the flat: the humming of the boiler and the rhythmic clinking of the pipes that mocked him with an echo of home. He told Mycroft as much, after the funeral. Mycroft just said,

“I’m leaving it as it is, should you change your mind. It’s still your home: yours and Sherlock’s.”

John heard him, but didn’t really understand, the way he hadn’t understood when Mrs Hudson had said, “Maybe you could keep writing that blog- it seemed good for you,” or when Molly had said “It won’t always feel like this”.

He had always translated between Sherlock and the rest of the world. Deprived of this role, he could no longer make sense of anything. Maybe Sherlock had translated him as much as he’d translated Sherlock- given him context and meaning, balanced out his asymmetry. He was limping along again now, halting and out of time, and he couldn’t fix it by himself.

When he came back, the first thing he saw was Sherlock’s violin, struck mute without Sherlock to coax sounds from it, to turn its anatomy into music. John trailed his fingers over it, but he didn’t speak its language. He put it back in its case, with its bow.


End file.
